The Queen of Manhattan
by Audria
Summary: Above all, Blair hated Chuck Bass. By sleeping with Jenny, he finally broke her. Yet she had somehow survived the fallout. And now that she was queen of Manhattan, she would break him. Post season 3 finale, Blair's revenge, C/B eventually .
1. Chapter 1

So like many of you, I was pretty pissed, albeit heartbroken, about the Season 3 finale of Gossip Girl. Namely, I was sick of Blair being the victim of Chuck's stupidity and selfishness. So I decided to do something about it. Time for Chuck to be the victim for once.

Synopsis: Above all, Blair hated Chuck Bass. By sleeping with Jenny, he finally broke her. Yet she had somehow survived the fallout. And now that she was queen of Manhattan, she would break him.

Disclaimer: Alas, I don't own Gossip Girl. If I did, I would have found a way to keep Blair and Chuck together without turning them into a giant yawn-fest.

* * *

Blair stared at her reflection in her mirror.

She hated _everything_.

She hated the ugly black tears that streaked down her face and onto her hands. Hated the way her hands shook as if they had a life of their own. Hated that little witch from Brooklyn who had upended her life for years.

But most of all, she hated Chuck _fucking_ Bass. He had done horrible things to her. Lied to her, manipulated her, even pimped her out to his despicable uncle. He pushed her to the breaking point. And by sleeping with Jenny Humphrey, he finally did it.

He broke her… He broke her with _love_.

And without love, Blair was nothing.

With that realization echoing in her mind, Blair willed herself to stop crying.

Words from the past echoed in her mind. _I'll always be here. I don't want you going anywhere. I couldn't bear it. So whatever you want to do to yourself, please don't do it to me. _

She had said that to Chuck as he teetered on the brink of life and death. And her words had pulled him back.

She understood now; Chuck was as connected to her as she was to him. If she hurt herself, it would hurt him. She rejoiced in the thought.

She looked down at her hands. They had stopped shaking, as if they knew she was filled with a singular purpose. They would help her. So they opened the drawer of her vanity and snatched the scissors that lay inside. Her left hand formed a fist as she held out her arm. Her right hand held the gleaming silver scissors.

She stared up at her reflection once more, an eerie smile etched on her face.

* * *

Figuring out where to do it was easy. There would be no better place than the rooftop of the Empire. Even if Chuck had recovered it from Jack at her expense, there was no way he could keep it after what she planned to do there.

She doubted it would even hurt. It was unseasonably cold for a spring night in New York -- barely over 30 degrees -- and yet she had walked out her penthouse with naught but a simple white dress on. And she felt none of the cold. She felt nothing because she was nothing.

"That's a lovely dress you have on," a male voice whispered to her from the shadows of a dingy alley.

"I know," she said simply as she continued along.

"You must be going somewhere special," it continued.

"I am," she replied.

"But it won't matter to him," the voice said.

Blair stopped cold. She peered into the alley.

"What did you say?"

"You obviously heard me or you wouldn't have stopped," the voice said. "What you plan to do is a mistake."

"You don't know what you're talking about," she snapped, unnerved that this stranger had questioned the poetic justice of her plan.

"There's a better way," the voice continued. "One that would prevent the unnecessary destruction of your lovely little self."

"This is the only way," she said resolutely.

"No, Blair, it isn't," the voice said judiciously. "You would stare at the cold blinking lights of Manhattan, hear the sirens and the cries down below, and you would stop yourself. As you are now, you are weak. You would be too afraid to face death and embrace it."

Blair stared at the dark figure who slouched on the back wall of a dingy Chinese restaurant and began to cry.

"You see?" the voice mocked her. "You're not ready. But perhaps if you stood there on that ledge long enough, a sudden gust would pity you and knock your tiny body over the edge. He would grieve for you, of course. But as time passed, he would forget; slowly but surely, he would forget. You would be but a shadow in his mind, as he filled his body with scotch and whores."

"No," she sobbed.

"Or perhaps he would find someone better than you," the voice bore on. "Someone to _really_ save him, someone who would succeed where you had failed. He would marry her, fuck her, give her children… and love her wholly and completely. And he would forget you."

"Please stop!" she cried. She had lost her nerve.

"Fear not, dear Blair," the voice soothed her. "I can help you. With my help, you can become strong. You may get your revenge. And ensure that your name will be on his lips as he breathes his last breath."

"How?" she whispered. "Who are you?"

The man sighed as he pushed himself off the wall and approached her slowly.

"Silly girl, the question is not _who_," he said as he loomed over her, "but _what_."

A flash later and all Blair felt was blinding pain. The man, creature, whatever… had bitten into her wrist, the same wrist she had cut the word "Love" into with her scissors. She thought of the bitter irony of how her death would play out instead; she only prayed that this creature would leave her body recognizable enough when he was finished. She didn't want her death to be for nothing; she still wanted to haunt Chuck's dreams till he became nothing but dust and bones as she soon would.

And then she laughed with delight when she realized she could _feel_.

The man ceased his assault. "You're no longer afraid?"

Blair stared into his startlingly blue eyes. "No," she whispered. "Just finish it."

She held her bleeding wrist to him again.

"Perhaps you are worthy after all," he said, smirking at her. She recoiled in disgust; it was that look. _That smirk_.

"Don't look at me that way!" she snarled. "Don't _ever_ look at me that way."

Another flash and she was pressed against his cold, hard body.

"You're ready," he smiled, relishing in the warmth and softness of her. He bit into his own wrist and shoved it into her open mouth before she could even utter a word of protest.

* * *

This will be a long story, obviously with influences from _True Blood, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer_, Lord Byron, Dante, etc.

Reviews make fairies fly; flames make puppies die.

**A simple request: Please head to my profile page and vote on who you think Blair's maker should be. Obviously, I have not decided yet, so your input would be greatly appreciated--not to mention, the quicker I get feedback on this crucial character, the faster I can update the story!**

Here are the choices so far: Eric of True Blood, Damon Salvatore of the Vampire Diaries, Carter Baizen of Gossip Girl, a new character of my own creation, or none of these. If you have suggestions I haven't thought of, please put them in the reviews section.

Thanks in advance!


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry it took me so long to update, but as you all know, life happens. I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: Above all, Blair hated Chuck Bass. By sleeping with Jenny, he finally broke her. Yet she had somehow survived the fallout. And now that she was queen of Manhattan, she would break him.

Disclaimer: Alas, I don't own Gossip Girl. If I did, I would have found a way to keep Blair and Chuck together without turning them into a giant yawn-fest.

* * *

He lounged on the bed, eyes closed, head cocked to the side, fangs gleaming jauntily in the moonlight. He let out a bored sigh and continued his manufactured speech.

"The trials will begin tomorrow," he said. "You will each have one week to tie up all the loose ends of your pathetically tragic former lives."

He turned to girl nearest to him, who sat up on her knees like a little lapdog.

"Use your creativity," he said. "Remind me why I chose you, why I made you eternally young and infinitely powerful."

The girls all nodded emphatically while Blair rolled her eyes. They were just like the sycophants who had followed her around Constance-Billiard and NYU. None of them deserved to be queen of the Jersey Shore, let alone the majestic island of Manhattan.

"I'm sure it goes without saying that there are no rules. But ladies, please show a little modicum of care. Have a little discretion. You want to get gruesome, by all means, go _wild_. But just make sure to make it look like suicide or to frame the right person when you're done. After all, if the cops start locking down the city, it just makes it harder for all of us to eat."

"Prove to me why you should be my queen," he whispered, his final words sending the phantom touch of a lover ghosting along their spines. The way the girls' eyes rolled back in pleasure, Blair half-expected their heads (or nether regions) to set ablaze. But she had to admit she felt her back tingle as well, which only served to incense her. Primarily because it reminded her of Chuck and his (former) power over her body.

_Interesting ability_, she thought. _I wonder if we all have one._

A voice permeated her mind. _Not everyone does. But it seems as though you're special…_

Blair gaped at her maker for half a second, which may as well have been an eternity in their time, before regaining her composure.

_Of course I am_, she shot back at him with a self-satisfied smirk. _Did you really think any of these skanks would be competition? I ruled Manhattan as a human. Why should that change now?_

Her maker's eyes probed her until she was forced to lower her haughty gaze. After a long moment, he finally answered her.

_You may fail because you still love him. You may not have what it takes to destroy him, utterly and completely. If you can tear your love asunder like that, you will deserve to be my queen._

Blair's eyes flared with a bloodlust that always came about when she was issued a direct challenge.

_You may as well drop by Cartier tomorrow to commission a tiara,_ she thought, shooting him a dazzling smile.

* * *

Blair was not like "normal" vampires. While she was nocturnal, as all vampires are, she did not sleep during the day and hunt at night; in fact, she did not sleep at all, which her maker claimed was very unusual for a newborn. Nor did she lurk in the shadows, stalking her prey; she strutted down Fifth Avenue as though she already owned it. She did not have the sickly pallor of a newborn either; rather, she gave off a slight, ethereal glow as the moon's beams kissed her skin.

Her maker noticed that Blair was not the fastest hunter, nor by any means, the strongest. But what she lacked in speed and power, she made up for in guile. Watching her hunt was truly a thing of beauty and intrigue. For her first kill she played the virginal schoolgirl to a lewd businessman who bore eerily similar traits to her former beloved. She struggled against the fool's advances as he pressed her into a dingy alley wall; she had quite the flair for theatrics. The moment he gave her a sinister smirk, her eyes flashed crimson and she sunk her delicate fangs into his strong neck. As she drained him, she intimately pressed against her victim, slowly gyrating against him, before she glanced at her maker with an unmistakable glint in her eyes. He could smell her arousal, and he could not wait to sample it for himself.

But that would have to wait.

Her second kill was a blonde waif of a girl she found at 1Oak. This time Blair played the savior, snatching the clearly underage girl away from a lecherous stockbroker as he tried to ply her with more Dom. She pulled the girl into a dark corner and with wide, innocent eyes, asked if she was all right. She then cautioned the girl to watch out for unscrupulous men who would spike drinks, as the stockbroker had done. The poor child gaped in shock. And as a final warning, Blair cautioned the girl to be on the lookout for supposed friends who would stab her in the back. The girl thanked her for all her help and turned to leave.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Blair said with a smile, before lunging at the retreating girl and biting into the nape of her neck.

Her meals were always the same. Suave, brown-haired men with sharp jaws and lithe adolescent blondes with shifty eyes. And her maker could see the images of the two people she was actually thinking of as she practiced and practiced for her moments of revenge.

One night, Blair did not return to the Waldorf-Astoria (how fitting it was that that was where his lair was located), and her maker knew she was out there, somewhere, finally exacting her revenge with a sickening precision.

The only question that remained was who had she chosen first?

* * *

I'm still hoping for more input on who Blair's maker should be. Please add your suggestions in the comments section. And of course, reviews = hugs and kisses.


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